Metamorphosis of Today
by Youkomon
Summary: Because sometimes the best person for the job, turns out to be the worst. And Eva realised that a little too late. Isn't that right, Molly? [Post episode 26]


It occurred to me that maybe once upon a time Kanaletto was a good person. After all, in his past rule he seemed to have strong sense of justice before eventually getting carried away with it. It seems to me that he wasn't exactly evil as he truly believed what he was doing was right. Yes, he did terrible things, the most terrible being the way he scarred Eva's life, but he planned that so he could wipe out the universe and start all over again with the intention of ridding the cosmos and all life with it of pain. In that way he decided that the ends justify the mean and his final solution would effectively bring about the end of Eva's pain and be granting her mercy. Okay, so you people might not be happy with the logic and say he was just on a power trip…but still, those comments in episode 24 when he was facing Satis were very telling and served as a reminder that he did managed to govern the galaxy for ten thousand successful years before he flew into a strop. So he can't have been too terrible a ruler else he would have destroyed the universe beforehand.

This plays on the idea that if Kanaletto once had some firm ideas about the morality yet still become corrupt with power, then perhaps Jordan could also be corrupted in a similar fashion. After all, he still experiences human emotions and therefore an unhealthy bias towards the Krogs and the girl he knew as 'Molly'.

_Goodbye partner. You'll be the best avatar ever. - _Eva Wei, episode 26

* * *

Soft, speckled light. It soothes in, soothes out, unfurls in the context of light, dappled within the web of fate. And right now it is hers. And his. And everything in between.

It is better now. He says it is so. And she believes him. Because to unbelieve…is dangerous. It calls out, reeks with darkness and despair. And so she will ignore it for now and play with the light like a good girl, just like her Daddy told her to be. Because light is good and beautiful and pure and Kanaletto was wrong, wrong wrong wro-

Wasn't he?

Because this, all of this…what could be more right?

She draws the curtains across to the hide out the splendour of the moon and sees a contortioned mess of a woman's face among the green stained lily pads of textile yellow. The hair laps alongside pink petals but then she blinks…and the image is gone. It never was. It cannot stand up to the glory of the sun, the powerful gravitational pull that keeps life in check. Yes, she worships the sun and betrays the pale imitation of weakness. Reflections are for the unbeliever.

She admires the spirit. Only not the black kind that pulls your memories apart and shows you your mistakes. No…things like that are wicked. He told her so, shape shifters like that are ugly and barren of all redemption. They look strange and strange things kill. And maim. And destroy. And shouldn't be allowed.

Such ugly words. They shun the light. And darkness should never exist again. They both agreed on that.

Spirit? Ah yes, she had plenty of that…and sometimes she sees a white face and marble eyes, a skeleton truth…but then it vanishes and sometimes-

_She even forgets what they've talked about_

- sometimes she feels little cornerstones of her history are being taken out and replaced with something more flowery and acceptable. And if only she could remember why she longs for the feeling of control and silver on her ear then maybe she could work out why she feels the need to stuff leather and blackness in her closet instead of those frilly frocks that keep appearing. It doesn't make sense. The dresses are pretty and all, they remind her of-

_A five year old crying in the dark._

-his love, a gesture of his timeless patience with her. And she's grateful, she has to be the luckiest girl in the world, on this world because no other teenage has a partner who can govern life the way it needs to be governed.

Spirit is dead. A small voice says he shouldn't and-

_Did she really want him too?_

But then she remembers that he did something terrible and cruel and dark only she can't remember exactly what he did. But her partner, he told her it was evil and so he had to go. And the Krogs. And the Inna warriors. And especially that awful Norriasian, prince…prince…Ache-ka, Acre-ca, whatever his name once was…

_Aikka, her friend, her prince, the one who shot down Kross._

Yeah, he was terrible alright. A snobby blueblood who enjoyed ripping out the still beating hearts of young girls and swallowed them whole with a chortle. Her partner had put a stop to that with a grip of his golden fist. Funny though, how she always remembers raindrops and a tree whenever she almost gets the name right…

But she has a wonderful life. She holds onto her father and they buy ice-creams, giggle at her report cards and scoff at the excitement on the crowd's faces whenever the Star Racing season begins. She used to paste posters of red tattoos and sunglasses with flippant black hair up on her walls but he was angry and told her Star Racers result in death and she, she was too special to risk her pretty neck with even looking at someone who drives those things. What could she learn from them anyway? So she ripped down the shimmering colours, bold text splattering the innards of the bin-

_Rick, racing was his life and without fate he can have it all back._

She needs a life. She loves it and is glad he never wants her to die. She's still curious though, tugging at the photo albums when her father's not around then tugging onto his memories. But he looks blank, then puzzled and something almost like an unyielding sorrow crosses over and passes, like something was once there but now isn't-

_Maya._

there. But she feels the frustration bubbling in her chest and persists. How difficult can it be to remember the woman who births you, gives you life?

But oh…his anger…he flames up in her dreams, crouches down to her human level and spits majesty in her face. His gold rings round his lion-like face and he almost kisses her but doesn't quite and his words are so hurtful…

"I gave you your life, I give you life! You need me Molly!"

And she never dares to ask him what happened to the 'Eva' she once saw floating on her birth certificate. Because deep down she is screaming inside, knowing that as soon as she mentions it, that 'M' will trace over the 'E' and the 'o' and the 'l's and the 'y' will be irrepressible and no one will call her Eva anymore. It's so confusing and she can't ever think about it.

That's why she doesn't ask about the half-formed images in her waking moments than haunt her, or why she secretly keeps Star racing leaflets screwed up under her mattress. She doesn't ask about that grey uniform that turned up in the wash once or why she hates boarding schools so much. She can't utter the indignation needed to demand where those pink goggles burnt in his eyes or why he insists on the red hair dye. She doesn't utter anything more than a loving smile when he holds her in those shinning, light filled arms that harkens to her small form and wrap around in a pattern of devotion. She knows he is special and somehow she owes him for her near-perfect existence. But something is heavy and it weighs down on her, choking her heart with repentance.

Her Lord of Purity. Why is his heart so black?

"Everything I do, I do it for you Molly, you know that right? I just want you to be happy. I gave my life for you…"

Happy. She has always wanted to be happy. So why is it that she wants to cry because she can't feel a pulse beneath her hands and once you strip away the gold she's frightened there'll be nothing but air and perhaps some silver tags behind?

He's tightening, moulding her warmth into his and she realises that it's all shaping up into a supernova. He wants her to be one with the light, the power that changed him into so much more…and yet so much less…but still, she does not have the heart to call him a monster. For then the little humanity leftover would freeze and trickle away and she would be left in the hands of an unsuitable blacksmith. And she is wrought with pain.

It is pain that shapes the world. Only she's realised that a little too late.

"Jordan…"

Her gasps are restless and her breath tickles her own throat; there is no one to breathe it back for her.

"Stop changing me. Quit messing with my memories. I want…I want to remember properly. And if I change…I won't be the same person you first wanted. I won't be Molly anymore."

He hums and strokes her hair; she smells the singe and hears the endless crackle of a furnace but keeps pushing, pushing to feed it.

"Hmm…what's that Molly?"

She struggles to answer but the light is seeping into every crack and crevice of her body and she is flimsy, burning flesh on a stalk, bones gnashing in pink cages and totally breakable.

"You're…no partner of mine."

His hand stops but she barely notices; her guilt is raining down on her. His love split up the galaxy and killed people she knew, an entire species and made her forgot, made them all forget.

"You're the worst avatar ever. You're not Jordan."

But she really wishes she could be sure it's his heart breaking beneath her palm. This pain gave her a viable claim to his throne but she was too selfish, too dark, too everything. Jordan. Kanaletto…they were too pure, too untroubled at the start to realise the extent of corruption. They see only the imperfection. And she sees the pain. Feels it too.

It burns. The lights sears across her retinas and burns her inside out. She feels its barbed sting as it hisses over melted flesh and drags out her grief. But then it stops and she wakes in a bed that is too soft, too pink and knows that nothing will change.

"Don't leave me Molly."

A simple statement. And it is enough to make her cry.

"I'll make everything alright, you'll see…no more pain, never again…"

But she wants the pain, needs it. Without her bleeding memories she would be nothing but ash blowing on the distant surface of Oban. And this is the second time she has been a pawn to an avatar.

She hears his voice and does not mention how hard it will be to get up each morning and eat breakfast and pretend that something else is happening. But somehow she will manage it.

And she stares at the ceiling, at the divided sunlight that pads along the white paint with a restless growl and just waits, waits for a better time that she hopes will come and is not sure how to fix.

She waits for the moon to feed her.

* * *

Ya, the moon is a shameless reference to Maya and her tattoo. As is the 'Lord of Purity' and Kanaletto's self-proclaimed title.


End file.
